Not My Problem

by Ciara Smyth

  “Why not?” I asked. “Do you think I’d just land you in it?”

  “I don’t expect you to prioritize me getting in trouble over yourself.”

  “Well, it’s my risk to take,” I said.

  “I admire that. It’s good business.”

  I felt my cheeks heat. Angela Berry thought I was good at business. “Anyway, that’s not why I called you here. I need you to repay your favor.”

  “Okay . . . ,” she said, wary now.

  “You’re having a party on Saturday night—”

  “And you want an invite? Fine. Come if you must.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Eh, no. First of all, you already invited me. I need to bring someone else there—”

  “A plus-one? You’re really pushing it.” She winked. I nearly fainted.

  “Wrong again.” I cleared my throat. “This person is also already invited. I need to get them there. So I’m going to need your car.”

  She gulped. “Uh . . . I don’t think so.”

  “Well, that’s what I need from you.”

  “It’s my car.”

  “So?”

  “So it’s a car. It’s not a lip gloss. Do you know how much laxative tea I had to shill from shady sponsors to pay for that car?”

  “Borrowing lip gloss is unhygienic. This is way better. Less chance of herpes.”

  “You have herpes?” she asked. This time she was the one wrinkling her nose.

  “Oh, for God’s sake. I did you a favor, you owe me one. That’s the deal. You knew that. The thing I want is to borrow your car.”

  She met my gaze evenly and I could tell she was trying to come up with an alternative.

  “What’s going on?” Kavi appeared behind me. Which was literally impossible seeing as he would have had to walk past me on the stairs.

  “Angela here doesn’t want to pay her debts,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

  I had visions of Kavi using his height and strength to be intimidating and menacing.

  Those visions were not accurate. He was biting his lip.

  “Um, I don’t want to be rude and we, like, don’t want to pressure you or anything because you know that’s not really what we’re about and I’m not really the blackmaily kind. But then I suppose who is the blackmaily kind? That’s the question. Are we born blackmaily or do we become blackmaily through unfortunate circumstances? I mean, maybe everyone who’s ever done something crappy to someone else started off doing it for the right reason and in a way that’s kind of a nice idea because it means that humanity is basically good but then they end up in an ever more tangled mess and they stop seeing people as people and start seeing them as, you know, pawns in their wicked games and maybe that’s even more scary than if they were born that way because that means it could happen to any one of us if we’re not careful.”

  Silence.

  Kavi was always there when I needed him but I never had any idea what he was going to say.

  Angela looked unhappy; she bit her thumbnail as she thought about it. My heart pounded. I knew that I was full of hot air. If Angela wouldn’t back down there was no way I’d do anything about it.

  I almost gave up and walked away. It wasn’t worth it. But I hadn’t failed on one of my tasks yet and if I let clients set the terms of their repayment then I wouldn’t get what I needed. It’s not like Meabh had wanted to break into the school.

  “We had a deal,” I said, hoping to play on her sense of fair business practice—she was an entrepreneur too, after all—but I thought it came out too whiny.

  “Fine,” she said grudgingly. “You can use my car to transport your person, but I’m driving.”

  “You’ll miss some of your own party.”

  “If something happens to that car I’ll miss the rest of my life. My parents would kill me. They barely let me keep it after the sideswipe incident. Even though I paid for the damage . . . ” She trailed off, grumbling at the end.

  I thought about it. I didn’t technically have a driver’s license, after all. After a moment we shook on it and Angela left.

  The air rushed out of me and my shoulders dropped.

  “Hey,” Kavi said softly, and he pulled me into a hug immediately, squishing my face against his chest. Okay, more like his stomach. He was really tall. You know, compared to me.

  I let myself breathe in the clean, cottony scent from his uniform and thought about how his mother must have washed it last night for it to smell so good. I don’t know why I felt so rubbish. I hated the idea that Angela would be annoyed with me, even if I was just asking her to stick to the deal. Yes, she was a sixth year, and yes, she was intimidatingly hot, but it wasn’t any of that. I didn’t want to feel like a pest, like people didn’t want me around. Which was stupid because I didn’t need anyone to be my friend either. There was something safe about not needing anyone to like me. As long as they didn’t have any reason to dislike me. I realize that’s a low bar but I like to keep my expectations reasonable.

  After a moment, Kavi held me at arm’s length and although I hadn’t cried, I could feel my eyes were red.

  “Are you okay?” he said.

  “I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep.” That was it. That confrontation was not a big deal. I was being emotional because I was exhausted. “I get it. I wouldn’t want someone driving my car if I had one. I don’t know why I’m taking it so personal.”

  Kavi looked like he was searching for something to say. Or was he waiting for me to say something else? Where was a distracting monologue when you wanted one?

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “Seriously. Now we can tell Daniel Something that we’ll take him to the party.”

  “I’ll let him know. I saw him when I passed the home ec kitchen and I’m going that way.”

  “Thanks,” I said. He saluted me and disappeared downstairs. He had seemingly become comfortable with skipping class. I hoped I wasn’t a bad influence.

  Back upstairs I sat down near Meabh. She was eyeing me with what I can only describe as a very Ms. Devlin look.

  “What was that about?” she demanded.

  “Um. None of your business?”

  “You’re ‘helping’ other people. Aren’t you?”

  “No,” I lied.

  “You are.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are. I know it. You’re a terrible liar.”

  “I’m a great liar.”

  “You’re not.”

  “I am.”

  “You definitely aren’t.”

  “Okay, fine. I am helping other people. So what?”

  “That is a bad idea,” she said firmly. “You should focus on your own problems. Have you got all your homework done for today?”

  I rolled my eyes. She was becoming more like Ms. Devlin every second.

  “That’s your problem,” I replied. “You think you know what everyone should do and so you tell them and expect them to fall in line. You’re a dictator.”

  Meabh shuffled uncomfortably and then shrugged. “I do know better. Am I supposed to pretend I don’t so I don’t hurt their fragile feelings? Maybe other people should just be smarter.”

  “You’re upset about people not following the rules you set for them, right? You think it means they don’t care about whatever cause you have on at the time.”

  “They don’t care. People are terrible,” she said hotly.

  “Most people want to do the right thing,” I said, “but if they aren’t, then figure out a way to make it easy for them to be good people.”

  Meabh thought about this for a minute. She frowned.

  “So you’re saying I have to hold their hands like babies? They’re incapable of making the slightest bit of effort themselves even if they know it’s the right thing to do?”

  I shrugged. “If you really want them to do what you want, you have to make it the best option.”

  “Leave them no other choice,” she said, more to h
erself than to me.

  “Well, I didn’t quite put it like that, Kaiser, but sure.”

  “Well, what about this?” she said, suddenly excited. “Every year people doing Gaisce Awards have to go out and find volunteering opportunities, but we can create those opportunities in the school. We could set up a homework club for kids who are falling behind for whatever reason. You donate hours of tutoring.”

  I had the uncomfortable feeling that I was one of those kids and the whatever reason was the kind of thing that Meabh would never have to experience. I also didn’t think she had thought about what it might be like to be on the receiving end of one of her charitable notions.

  “Okay,” I said steadily. “What if you’re falling behind because, let’s say, you have to work after school because your family is struggling, and you don’t have time for your homework, let alone extra hours of tutoring? The people you’re trying to help most are the people you might not be able to reach like that.”

  Meabh paused. She frowned. Her frown deepened, and I felt bad.

  “What do I do about that?” she asked, sounding genuinely lost.

  “I don’t know. Those are problems you can’t fix as a student council president. You want to fix the whole world, but you can’t.”

  “I could if I was in charge of the whole world,” she pouted. “I could be so effective if people would just do what I want them to do. I’d fix everything.”

  I laughed. “I believe you.”

  “I’ll work on it,” she said immediately, beginning to type down some notes. Without looking up, she added, “But don’t think I don’t know that you’re deflecting.”

  “Fine. Will you do my Maths homework with me again?” I asked with a grin. “I just used up all my brilliance.”

  I watched her wrestle with her desire to tell me what to do with my life and her desire to tell me what to do with my homework. Luckily for me, homework won.

  20.

  I sent Mam three texts during the day to see if she was awake. She didn’t answer and I kept checking my phone during class. Eventually I just turned the ringer on because I thought it was better than checking it every two minutes and getting in trouble that way. Of course last class of the day I got a reply and Mr. Smith practically ate the face off the class trying to figure out whose text tone was an audio clip of Kristen Stewart saying, “I am, like, so gay, dude.” Thankfully either no one knew it was me or they weren’t going to tout.

  MAM

  All good love, don’t worry. Will make you dinner tonight.

  There were three heart emojis in different colors and a GIF of a kitten rolling over. I guess that was meant to be an apology? Now that I knew she was okay, I felt a mixture of relief and dread. I was glad she hadn’t expired in a pool of her own vomit but I didn’t want to face whatever state she was in. Whatever she said about making dinner, she had to be seriously hungover—or worse, she had already knocked a few into her so she could face the day.

  I was loitering by my locker, clearing out the discarded scraps of paper that lined the bottom like a hamster’s nest, when Holly sidled up beside me. She’d ignored me all day and I had a pit in my stomach over it. Luckily I’d had my Maths homework, Angela and Meabh, and the ever-increasing worry that Mam was going to be fired and we’d be really fucked to distract me.

  Holly leaned up against the locker next to mine and flashed me a grin. She tugged on a lock of my hair and then pouted. I sighed. She rummaged in her skirt pocket and pulled out a lip balm. The peppermint one that I like but will not (cannot) pay €4.99 for.

  Really? You’re not even going to say sorry? You’re going to offer me some kind of scrap that I’m supposed to take as an apology? The lip balm is cheaper than the word, apparently.

  I took it from her and unwrapped the cellophane, thinking that Meabh would be annoyed that there was unnecessary plastic. Could you recycle this kind? What was the rule? If you can scrunch it up you can’t put in the recycling? I couldn’t remember so I put the curl of plastic in my pocket to google later.

  “Tingly,” I said, smacking my lips after I’d applied the lip balm.

  Holly smiled and then hugged me.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I was being a raging bitch.”

  Are you only saying sorry after I’ve already accepted your faux apology? Is that so I can’t get mad at you because I’ve already forgiven you? She always did this. Made it impossible for me to stay mad without looking like I was the asshole.

  “You’re stressed. You loved the paper.”

  “Yeah, it’s that.” Holly nodded. “Definitely that’s been awful. But you’ve also never kept anything from me before.”

  You mean anything that mattered to you. I’ve kept plenty from you the last couple of years. But you don’t want to hear about being poor and Mam drinking. It makes you feel sorry for me.

  I had to tell myself to stop it. I could feel myself getting angry and if I let those thoughts take over we’d get into another argument.

  “I’m not really keeping it from you. I told you the gist of things.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I get why you need to be confidential. But it feels like you’re cutting me out of this big part of your life.”

  She leaned in and rested her forehead against mine. It made my eyes blurry and my heart ache.

  At the same time a flare of warmth lit me up from the inside, and I followed that feeling instead. The one that erased all the bad feelings. Holly just wanted to be close to me. That was all it took to dissolve the crusty, calcifying stone of resentment that had been building in me. I pulled away.

  “What’s that?” I asked, pointing to a roll of paper she’d propped up next to the lockers.

  “I thought you’d never ask.” She grinned. “These are my campaign posters.”

  “Campaign posters?”

  This was not a campaign poster kind of school. One year a girl who was running for secretary lost to a write-in vote for a meme, but that was the most invested students had ever been. Unfortunately, “egg that is bigger than before” was determined not to have legally won the election and Sorcha O’Brien ended up secretary after all.

  Holly picked up the roll and unfurled one of the posters. It was like any campaign poster you’d see in real life. A big picture of Holly’s face against a neutral background. VOTE HOLLY FOR CLASS PRESIDENT.

  “Wanna help me put them up?” she said with puppy-dog eyes.

  I thought about Mam at home waiting for me.

  Then I thought about how I’d waited all night for her.

  “Sure.”

  Holly handed me a chunk of Blu-Tack and we got two chairs from a nearby classroom to stand on as we worked on plastering the atrium with pictures of her face. It was more or less deserted.

  “Well, are you going to tell me how it works, then, or not?” Holly said, sticking her first poster up by the door.

  “The . . . the social enterprise?” I said, remembering Kavi’s words. Even though the atrium was empty it made me nervous talking about it out in the open.

  Holly snorted. “The social enterprise? Where’d you learn that?”

  That’s right. I’m so stupid I couldn’t possibly know something.

  She didn’t mean that to sound the way it did. After all, I hadn’t heard of a social enterprise before yesterday, so I could hardly get on my high horse about it.

  “Mr. Smith. He was going on about it the other day. You know how transition years are supposed to do a business project? I mean, I don’t think this would count to him, but I realized that it kind of fit.”

  For some reason I didn’t want to bring up Kavi. He could get in trouble over these escapades. He already had. My confidentiality should cover his ass more than anyone’s.

  Holly jumped off her chair and dragged it a couple of feet along. “Fit how? What exactly do you do?”

  “Well, I do people favors. And then they owe me a favor.”

  “Does that kid Kavi have something to do with it?”


  So much for confidentiality.

  I tried to make him sound like he was incidental. “Sometimes people have asked him to ask me.”

  “How did it start?”

  Why did this feel like an interrogation?

  “Uh . . . Kavi. He brought me someone. A friend.”

  I didn’t love lying to Holly, but there was no way I was telling her the truth.

  Holly looked dubious but she didn’t press it.

  “What are your plans this weekend?” I said, trying to change the subject. “We could do something?”

  I had to break Daniel out on Saturday night but I was free the rest of the day. It was a simple fix; it should go off without a hitch.

  “Visiting my nan Saturday. Might be free Sunday afternoon but I’m not sure yet. I’ll text you on Sunday if I get home early and I’m not too tired.”

  Right, because I couldn’t possibly make other plans. I’d just be waiting around for you to maybe be free.

  “Sure, you can let me know,” I said.

  When we were done we backed into the middle of the atrium and surveyed our work. One thing stood out. Holly gave me a sidelong look.

  All my posters were stuck up about foot lower than hers. She slung her arm over my shoulder and we burst out laughing.

  21.

  The flat did smell like dinner when I got home, but nothing I’d brought back from the food bank would smell that good, which made me suspicious about where it came from.

  “Is that you, love?” Mam called out from the kitchen.

  I didn’t answer. I went around the flat turning off the lights that she’d left on in her bedroom and the bathroom. They’d probably been on all day. I didn’t take my coat off, though, because it was bloody freezing, but at least that meant Mam had enough sense not to put the heating on; our gas bill last month was astronomical.

  When I walked into the kitchen she was flipping two chicken breasts in the frying pan.

  “Where’d you get those?” I asked.

  “I went shopping. I am able to do that, you know. I’m the mother.” She said it in a joking tone and I didn’t say anything.

  “Child support,” she said after a minute, cheeks reddening. “I know I fucked up the other night,” she added.